


Crazed Lions

by coldwarqueer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Murder, POV Second Person, Poor Locus, Rich Felix, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwarqueer/pseuds/coldwarqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You wanna go for a ride?"</p><p>"Do I know you?"</p><p>"No."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazed Lions

The first time you notice him is when you are on a smoke break and he is leaning against his shiny, expensive motorcycle, overpriced coffee in one hand and texting with the other. He comes into the bar often with a fake ID and you are sure he's not even eighteen yet.

You have seen him so many times but you have never _noticed_ him until now.

He is clicking his tongue ring against his teeth and you resist the urge to tell him not to ruin his smile by clacking the metal all around in his mouth. It's none of your business how he deals with dental health.

He notices you staring and he grins at you. He is missing a tooth, right beside his canine. You never noticed that before, either.

"Can I bum a cigarette?" he asks, sidling up to you. You only have twelve minutes left on your thirty minute break and you're unsure if you want to spend it smoking with someone you're sure isn't even eighteen.

You let him bum a cigarette.

"Life saver," he says, and you can feel him closing in on you, one hand pushing over your back and curling around your waist. He is small, a foot shorter than you where you rest at a comfortable six feet two. "You wanna go for a ride?"

"Do I know you?"

"No."

* * *

His name is Felix and you find yourself delighted whenever he shows up at the bar. You are still certain he is underage, but you have no way to prove it. He is always badgering you for your number, because he _likes you_ he says, he wants to _know you_ he says.

"Wanna go make out on your break?"

Nothing quite as poetic as liking you or wanting to know you. You know what someone like Felix wants. He is a young and brash and you know you shouldn't be kissing him like you are. He grabs at you and touches you through your work vest and peels your pants down like skin. His lips are around your cock and you rest your head against the brick wall of the alleyway, one hand locked in his bleached hair.

It feels good to touch him. But you shouldn't be touching him. You are thinking too much, and for just a moment your mind goes blank as you shake and empty yourself in his mouth. He is looking up at you, licking his lips like a cat licks its whiskers, and then he is kissing you. You taste yourself on his tongue and you have to push him away to catch your breath. He looks offended.

You breathe out an apology and hastily belt up your pants, checking your watch. You are five minutes late off your break.

Felix grabs you and forces you to look at him, yanking you into another kiss. You are consumed by his teeth and the fire behind his lips and you have no doubt you will be burned by him. He shoves his phone that has gold trimmings into your hands and you are worried you will drop it.

"Put your number in."

You feel powerless to do otherwise.

* * *

He is seventeen, and you know he should be in school right then. He is leaning over the counter of your day job, tonguing his missing tooth and staring at the porno magazines behind you.

He is wearing the sweatervest of a private school with the initials stitched into the bottom left front of the undershirt. You are tempted to call your manager, but Felix's brooding stare and scowl distract you.

"You didn't call."

You shift on your feet, glancing at the clock. You divert the conversation away from yourself, "Shouldn't you be in school, young man?"

He laughs. It sounds bitter. He chews on his snakebite piercings, the hole in his smile ever present. "School is for slaves of the modern world. I already know the shit I need for what I want to be when I grow up."

"And what's that?"

" _Rich_."

He already is rich, you think. He has his own motorcycle, with plated black chrome with orange highlights and a phone with a steel case that has real gold trimmings. He goes to a private school with the initials stitched at the bottoms of uniforms, metal in his face with real gems in the jewelry. He is Old Money, older than your family has set foot in this country, and he has no problem becoming New Money as well.

* * *

On your rare days off he comes to visit you in your shabby apartment. He makes faces at the carpet and the walls and complains how small it is and how you must feel so cramped. He says how he's going to front you up in a hotel for all the nights he wants to come over, but he never does, and you think he must enjoy playing the role in the house of the "little people" for once.

Felix takes his showers hot, and your skin is red when you get out, from the heat and the scratches down your back.

* * *

Felix is an animal.

You are certain you have come to this conclusion from more than just the sex. Because while Felix is like a tiger when he is on top of you, riding you rough and hands around your throat, breathing down your neck and _biting_ and _clawing_ and _squeezing,_ afterwards he is a housecat. He purrs and curls against you and kisses at the bruises he leaves on your shoulders as if an apology for the aches you will have tomorrow.

You settle on feline, because there is nothing like a dog in Felix. He is articulate and careful and even in his blunders he tells you _I meant to do that_. His perceived superiority leaves him wanting for worship and delighting when you pet him.

You want to pick him apart and find all the pieces of him that seem so inclined to who he is; because at the heart of it he is still fire, and you haven't been burned yet so you continue playing.

* * *

The first time Felix burns you is when you tell him for the first time _no_. You have never told Felix no before.

Come to think of it, you are sure that no one has told Felix no before.

He spits words like venom and his snakebites look like fangs and you can swear that his missing tooth is a void that sucks you in and burns a fire in your chest, licking at your throat. You don't raise your voice, you never raise your voice; but Felix makes you sound like thunder.

He consumes you as if you are made of newsprint and tinder and the blows you exchange are so sharp you could be bleeding.

And laying in bed after breathtaking disaster and an explosion that later you might have called sex Felix looks at you, that fire in his eyes simmered down to an ember once more, and says, "What were we fighting about again?"

You turn your head and silence him with your lips; you have no doubt he would kiss you even if you had burned his mansion to the ground, because Felix is delighted by tension and conflict. You have not once found his confrontations to be battles, only games.

His games leave you with third degree burns.

"Something stupid," you tell him, and then you are kissing down his chest with fervor and intent to make him relive the past thirty minutes all over again. He acts like you are worshipping him, like he is your god and you are his loyal servant. Every kiss is a sacrament and every utterance of Felix's name is a prayer.

* * *

Felix is not just an animal, he is a volcano.

Laying dormant for weeks at a time, shifting to fit the situation, but beneath him is the ultimate possibility of an eruption. Heat boils off of him and lava seeps from his lips, magma bubbling in his loins.

Seeing him explode on top of you like a firework, mouth open and eyes half lidded, makes you wonder if there really is a god bestowing a gift to you, or if Felix has just wrapped himself in mortal coils to deliver himself to you personally.

You haven't said your rosary in years, but Felix is deserving of a prayer. His body, full of flaws that can't be real, is perfect. The long scar up his leg he tells you a different story for each time you ask, his missing tooth that he could have fixed if he wanted, part of the charm he says, the scars in his eyebrows from his home piercing jobs gone wrong, all of him is disgustingly perfect.

You utter a hail mary under your breath when you cum, just in case the god you don't believe in is watching you worship a false idol.

* * *

"My body is a blank canvas, I want to fill it up."

His eighteenth birthday is coming up, he tells you. Felix is designing a tattoo. How garish and unneeded, you think, but you do not have the money nor the time for body art and body modifications like Felix does- especially the money. Just last week he paid someone to cut his tongue into the shape of a snake's. He is still lisping.

"Which one should I get for my back?" You stare at the art on the table. It is beautiful, you think, done by Felix's hand alone with no reference or thought to anyone else's influence. These are Felix's creations alone, and he wants them infused upon his skin and into his very body.

You stare at the eyes of a dragon peering at you with black eyes, maw dripping blood and bones as it lords over a hoard of gold and precious gems. The sea of gold is a tidal wave under the dragon's sharp claws and you can imagine it, popping out of Felix's skin and rearing its ugly head when you fuck him from behind.

"Get the fox."

You couldn't bear to look at something that so daringly reminds you of yourself when you are fucking him.

He gets the dragon anyway.

You stop fucking him from behind.

* * *

You don't call Felix on his birthday. He calls you every day after for the next two weeks, says he has new piercings, new tattoos, a new body he wants to show off to you.

His body is full of art, and you are jealous that you were not the one to draw it on him. For the better, you think, because you are not an artist. Too rational, to literal. Felix is like that too, but there is a part of him that is an artist, you think. A part of him that is a performer and a musician and an artist with his body as a canvas.

His body is a canvas, he tells you, he will fill it up with art of blood and sweat and tears, and it will all belong to _him_.

"Will you put art on me?" he asks you, looking up from you in bed as you smoke by the window. You stare at him and glance out the window. It is dark and the wind blows the cigarette smoke up into your face. Felix is purring against the pillow, pulling the blankets up.

"I'll put art on you."

You stub out your cigarette on his forearm. He hisses and writhes beneath you and when you pull it up the flesh is burned and black and Felix licks his lips when he examines it.

"You know," he says, grin wide and cheeks full, "In some cultures scarification is like, marriage and junk."

* * *

You have an 'X' marked on your forearm, because Felix insisted that if you get to burn a hole into him he will have some part of himself on you. It's remarkably simple, really, but it looks right. You don't mind it.

It is three weeks in when you realize Felix hasn't _gone home_.

"Did you get kicked out?"

Felix snorts at you from where he is slowly rising from the bed, hand running through his head. He yawns, and you watch his tiny mouth open wide, pink tongue and black tongue ring peeking out. "No way, I'm too precious as their only child to kick me out. No matter how many fucking holes I pierce in my face."

"Why haven't you gone home yet?"

Felix shrugs and turns over in bed. You set down a mug of coffee, despite how it is two in the afternoon and Felix has slept through most of the day. "Haven't felt like it."

"Do you like it here?" He has always bemoaned the fact your home is half the size of his bathroom. You are unsure if that is an exaggeration or not.

"Not really. It's a little small." Felix reached for his phone and clicks his tongue ring against his teeth, already chewing on his snakebites. "They put money on my account every few days. I'm set."

"Are you just going to rely on their money forever?"

Felix looks at you with eyes that send a message of a surly teenager who refuses to conform to society. You sigh and shake your head. "Are you going to inherit an estate? A company?"

He is tonguing his missing tooth again. He glides his tongue over his top row of teeth, ring sliding along his lip. "I would rather be new money."

* * *

You are certain with everything you have attributed to Felix now, an animal, a landmass, a _god_ , you should have expected this.

He is staring at you with blood on his hands, dirty knife hanging next to the body lying on his bedroom floor and the look of a scared child as he says, " _Help_."

And you help, because all the power and money in the world couldn't make this go away. Thoughts race through your head as you soak up blood with towels that you intend to burn later, body already in four separate garbage bags. You are thinking how you will be caught as you scrub bleach into the floor, scrubbing away the blood. Felix is standing over you, staring at his hands and looks down at you, as if you expect him to speak. "Crime of passion," he mumbles, rubbing his hands together. The blood starts to flake.

You are sure Felix will be useless in this situation, but he is already hauling body parts away to his bike, loading it into his saddlebags and locking it up tight, intending on dropping them in the river, tells you, "I saw it on _Dexter_ , I can do it."

What a fat lot of good serial killer shows did for Felix with clean-up. He drives off to dispose of the body, he will be _caught_ you are sure of it, and you are an _accomplice_.

He arrives back in an hour, brings you coffee, and you are finally standing up, floor scrubbed clean and bleached so well you are dizzy from the fumes.

Felix is staring at the knife. You have already cleaned it. You stop him from picking it up, seeing the look in his eyes.

"Don't, Felix. We need to dispose of it. You should have taken it with you to the river."

He yanks the knife out of your grip. "No. It's special."

"What's special about it?"

He looks at the handle of the knife, where an orange stripe is painted. "First kill."

Of all the things Felix is, an animal, a volcano, a god, you should have known he would be something else so easily. You wonder how you never noticed.

A predator.

* * *

Felix is fire. You have played for too long, but you can't stop now. You have been burned too many times to count already, but you will not stop now.

Felix perches on you like a cat. He looks harmless in his sleep, nose whistling as he breathes out in a way that is only cute for the first twenty minutes when you are trying to fall asleep. You have seen what his hands are capable of, and he has stood over a body and quoted Macbeth to you, laughing as you tell him he is the one cleaning up the blood and bleaching the floor this time.

You should have known he was dangerous from the moment you laid eyes on him. His personality is big enough to fill a car and his voice is bigger than your apartment, his lust for materialistic bliss and disgust for the lower class (" _But not you, baby, you're my favorite poor person!"_ ). You should have known from the very moment you saw him that Felix is a predator, a crazed lion dripping at the jaw from a challenge and claws that tear at you like you are made of paper.

You breathe out a long breath, arm curling around him. You should have anticipated him, you think. But there is no anticipating for a hurricane like Felix. Unpredictable and freefalling through life, high on cash and the rush of something new. Felix's drug of choice is adrenaline.

He purrs against your collarbone and throws a leg over him. You spy the head of the dragon his back, staring at you with eerie eyes that follow whoever meets them. You glance down to the circular scar on his forearm that matches the 'X' on your own, and you think of what Felix said about scarification being equal of marriage.

Perhaps, you think, yes, you should have anticipated it. You should have anticipated Felix's fire to burn you away from the inside like he has, leaving you a shell and a husk. You should have anticipated his explosions that rock the world and the foundations of the earth. You should have anticipated Felix's divine intervention.

But you chose for better or for worse.


End file.
